


One Two

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Dom/sub, Dominance, F/M, Femdom, First Time, Hand Jobs, M/M, Multi, PWP, Submission, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-04
Updated: 2014-06-04
Packaged: 2018-02-03 08:30:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1738037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Icheb’s let into B’Elanna and Tom’s games.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Two

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

It takes him a few seconds to be ready, waiting in the corridor. The Borg have a very open and pragmatic view of sex, but... knowing that doesn’t really make this less nerve wracking. It’ll be the first time Icheb’s done _anything_ sexual, and judging by the predatory looks on Lieutenant Torres and Paris’ faces, their games don’t come with training wheels. 

Right. They told him to call them _B’Elanna_ and _Tom._ Most of the crew does. Icheb... Icheb’s not part of the crew, not really. Yet. 

He’s a stray work-in-progress, not quite Borg and not quite Brunali, and he’s too young for them by their own words—old enough to play, legal, but not to keep on the same level—and he doesn’t have anyone he could talk to about this—they said to keep it a secret; it’s _odd_ —he thinks Seven might be mad at him if she knew. But he’s old enough to make decisions for himself, and he’s curious, and when he thought of it before stepping into his alcove last night, his body made it very clear that he _wants_ it. Or at least, is curious. They gave him time to think. He’s said yes. He sucks in another breath and tells himself they can’t possibly judge him for his lack of experience; they know it’s new for him, and he’s eager to learn. 

He finally takes that last step towards the doors, and they open for him, expecting him, then click shut behind him: locked. He knows the sound. He walks forward into the living room with stiff, efficient steps, and stops in the middle, swallowing his nerves. They’re waiting for him. B’Elanna’s in her uniform and stretched out in a chair like a beautiful queen, and Tom’s...

Tom’s sprawled out on the couch, completely naked, with one leg across his lap and his arms spread, chest pushed forward. Icheb’s eyes get caught in the study of Tom’s body, so different than his own: older and more defined and _human_. When B’Elanna calls him back, his head snaps around, and he can feel his cheeks warm. 

“Glad you could come, Icheb.” She wears a small grin, but it’s a powerful thing: almost a smirk. There’s no question who’s in control of this situation; he can feel the air of her command. She tells him calmly, “This is your last chance to back out before it starts. We won’t judge you for it.”

Icheb doesn’t move. He made his decision, and he doesn’t understand her warning; none of the factors have changed.

When it’s clear he’s not going anywhere, her smile grows, and she asks, “Did you pick a word like I told you to?”

“Yes,” he answers. He thought about this a good deal more than he probably should have. “Imperfection.” She lifts an eyebrow but doesn’t comment, just nods. He assumes that means his word’s been accepted. 

Then she tells him bluntly, “Strip.”

Icheb blinks at her. She told him everything beforehand, of course, and Tom confirmed it all; Icheb knows how this is going to work. And by coming here, he’s agreed to the terms. It still didn’t quite prepare him for the concreteness of it: the easy way she barks the order and the shiver that runs up his spine, compelling him to obey. Time in the collective taught him to do nothing but. It’s very... sudden.

He glances sideways at Tom, who’s smiling lazily and watching. At least Icheb won’t be the first to be naked. His eyes flicker over Tom’s body again, across his handsome face and down his tight abs and over his smooth stomach, down to the smattering of light brown curls and the fullness of his half-hard cock resting against his thigh. Icheb releases a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. B’Elanna says, “Icheb,” and it’s clear in her tone that it’s a warning.

Clutching the bottom of his sweater, Icheb pulls it slowly off him, over his head, wholly aware that he’s wearing nothing underneath. When it’s off and his face is no longer shielded, he knows he’s blushing, though he doesn’t fully understand why. It takes him a moment to extrapolate a reason; he isn’t sure yet if his body is acceptable. He knows they must have high standards; they’re both gorgeous. He folds his sweater and bends to place it on the coffee table. B’Elanna redirects him. “Take off your shoes.”

Icheb steps out of his shoes and places them beneath the table, under where his sweater is. She purrs, “Now your pants,” and Icheb finds himself staring down, avoiding both of their gazes; his face is too hot for anything else.

He pushes down his pants by their hem, slow over his hips, leaving just his white underwear, too thin and personal. He pushes his pants down his legs and folds them and puts them atop the sweater. He has the urge to cover his crotch with his hands, where his member is starting to react, pressing against its confines. He knows it’s not as impressive as Tom’s, and it’s shaped a little differently and ridged at the base where Tom’s isn’t. Icheb’s balls are also tighter, smaller and higher, and they’re smooth and don’t have the tufts of hair Tom’s does. Icheb wonders vaguely if their interest in him will change when they see his genitals. 

B’Elanna tells him, “Come here.” Icheb casts a waning look at Tom before turning and strolling over to the chair, trying not to be so tense. B’Elanna reaches out to hook one finger in the waistband of his underwear, and she tugs him closer by it. He stumbles up to her chair. She shifts her hand to press her palm into his growing bulge, and Icheb clenches his teeth, willing himself not to make a whining noise. B’Elanna spreads her fingers around the outline of his cock and feels him deftly, kneads his crotch and runs her hands up and down the line of his shaft. When she reaches the weight of his balls, she tugs them lightly, both at once, and lifts an eyebrow but doesn’t comment. Icheb’s head is thinning at her touch, and he doesn’t have the wherewithal to ask. Having her touch him is...

He likes it. Very much. She keeps palming him until he’s almost painfully hard through his underwear, and then she purrs, “You’re going to be a good boy for Tom and I, aren’t you, Icheb?”

Icheb nods and mutters, “Yes, Lieutenant.” Her grin twitches, and he wonders for a moment if he said the wrong thing. Then she pushes him away by his stomach, and he stumbles back a few steps.

She tells him, “Take off your underwear.”

So Icheb pushes it slowly down, painfully aware of the exact second that his cock bounces out, freed into the open air. He has to resist the urge to cover himself. He folds his underwear in two and places it on the pile of his clothes, and he stands straight, rigid, exposed and under both their scrutiny. He can feel both sets of eyes on him. His arms hang loose at his sides, gaze fixed on a random spot on the wall. It seems to take forever for B’Elanna to give him the next order. 

“Go give Tom a handjob.” 

It’s another of those sharp, sudden instructions that makes Icheb look around. His mouth falls half open, and he knows he’s staring. He’s not sure what he expected, but...

Rolling her eyes with an amused look on her strong features, B’Elanna clarifies, “Go stroke Tom’s cock with your hands until he has an orgasm.” She says it so _pragmatically_. Icheb looks over his shoulder, and Tom extends a hand. 

He gestures towards himself and says softly, “C’mere, Icheb.” It’s a gentle, alluring sort of summons that Icheb has no hope of resisting. He does what he’s told. He turns and takes a few steps towards Tom, around the coffee table, and when he’s close enough, Tom reaches for his wrist. 

Tom grabs him and pulls him abruptly forward—Icheb stumbles right into Tom’s lap. Tom catches him by the hips and tugs him into place, sliding his ass up Tom’s legs so that he’s perched on Tom’s thighs, legs to either side and bent in the couch. Icheb’s fingers landed on Tom’s shoulders in his fall, but he doesn’t know where else to put them, so he doesn’t pull them away. Tom is looking up at him with a hungry smirk, and Icheb’s cock is suddenly very, _very_ hard.

Tom’s lap is warm. It makes Icheb’s whole body hot. Tom smells musky and faintly of cologne mixed with a little bit of sweat. It makes Icheb salivate for no good reason. Tom’s shoulders are broad and firm beneath his fingers, and Icheb finds himself mumbling, “I don’t know... I don’t know what to do.” He was told, yes, but he doesn’t really _know._ Where does he start? How does he start? Their chests are very close, their cocks almost touching, would be touching if they were both lying straight. Up close, Tom’s long, thick cock is an intimidating thing. It’s pinker than Icheb’s and has that fur above it, and Icheb can see the veins underneath the skin, making it look so _strong_ , almost like a muscle. The head isn’t that different than Icheb’s, though it’s more bulbous and slick. Once Icheb’s looked at it, he can’t look away. 

But Tom’s the one to touch him first. One hand still clutching tightly to Icheb’s side, the other dips beneath Icheb’s cock and balls to cup them, and Icheb has a sharp intake of breath. Tom bounces them lightly in his palm, then wraps his fingers around Icheb’s balls and pulls them one at a time, not unlike B’Elanna. He runs one finger down the ridge at the base of Icheb’s cock, and then he looks up at Icheb’s face to muse, “You really are pretty all over, kid.”

Icheb’s not a kid. But he’s too busy digesting the compliment to protest. Just to be sure, he asks, “I am acceptable?” Tom snorts and nods. Relief fills Icheb’s chest. He wants to be good for them. 

He bites his bottom lip and scolds himself for not behaving better; if he wants to be good, he has to do what he’s told. He was told to... to pleasure Tom. Hesitating another fraction, Icheb drops his hand down Tom’s chest, conscious of every tight muscle he ghosts over. Tom lets go of Icheb’s shaft, which makes Icheb bite back a whimper, but it’s not about him, and he’s determined to _behave._ Tom sets both his hands on Icheb’s spread thighs, and Icheb reaches the smattering of light curls. Fascinated, he pets through them once; the patch is a little coarse and curlier than the hair on Tom’s head. The top of Tom’s cock is smooth where it meets the rest of his body, and Icheb runs his fingertips over where the ridge would be on a Brunali. It’s... strange, feeling another man’s cock like this. But it’s exciting too, and Tom’s exotic body gives Icheb a thrill he couldn’t explain. He licks his lips absently and moves lower, experimentally opening his fingers to wrap around Tom’s shaft. He knows he’s done something right instantly, because Tom pats his hip with a smile: encouraging.

Icheb hesitates to return it. Then his eyes are back down, ready to concentrate. He squeezes once, just to test how much pressure to apply, and Tom grunts, “Careful, there.”

So Icheb loosens his grip and mumbles, “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t pleasure yourself, Icheb?” B’Elanna asks from the corner. Icheb looks over at her, red faced, and shakes his head. He doesn’t have the time. And honestly, he wouldn’t have even thought of it. He’s never had people to lust over before. Tom chuckles at him, but it isn’t mocking. Tom’s hand wraps around Icheb’s and spreads his fingers, showing him the proper grip. Icheb focuses and listens to every piece of advice, committing it all to memory.

Tom starts to move Icheb’s hand up and down, touching the base and sliding over to the head, and he moans lightly and breathes, “There you go. Just like that.”

Icheb nods to show his understanding and does as he’s told. He experiences a minor flicker of regret when Tom’s hand leaves him, but he doesn’t want to appear needy or unruly. He strokes Tom on his own, hyper aware of how close his hand comes to his own cock, how far up Tom’s thighs his body is, how little effort it would take to move closer and flatten their bodies together. Once he’s gotten the hang of it, the motion becomes rhythmical and second nature. He chances a look up at Tom’s face and finds it lightly flushed. Tom’s eyes are half lidded, his pupils dilated. His lips twist up at the corners, and he asks, “Do you want a kiss, kiddo?”

Icheb nods before he’s even processed the question. Parts of his body seem to be taking control of him, overruling his head, and for once, he lets them. He thinks he’s supposed to. Tom lifts a hand to cup Icheb’s cheek, and he runs the soft pad of his thumb along Icheb’s skin. Icheb... doesn’t know how to kiss.

But he wants to learn. Very much. Tom tells him, “Don’t stop what you’re doing with your hand, understand?” Icheb nods again: of course. Tom’s hand slips along Icheb’s jaw and stops beneath his chin, holding him in place. Icheb doesn’t know what to do when Tom leans in, so he does nothing. 

Tom presses their mouths together, and his lips are smooth and soft and moist, more malleable than Icheb expected. It lasts for only a few seconds, during which Icheb can feel the unhindered line of Tom’s nose and the flutter of Tom’s breath against him and the heat of another body. Then Tom pulls back a fraction, looks at Icheb’s eyes, and leans back in. Icheb’s lashes fall down: more instinct taking over.

This time, Tom’s tongue runs along the line of Icheb’s closed lips, and his teeth nip at Icheb’s bottom lip, and he crudely licks the corners. They land unsteady for someone as practiced as Tom probably is, and it takes Icheb a minute to realize that’s because _he’s_ trembling. He catches himself and tries to stop it, tries to be still and good, and he can feel Tom’s chuckle as much as hear it. 

When Tom pulls back again, Icheb tries to follow him, but Tom splays a hand on his chest to hold him at bay. Looking only at Icheb, Tom says, “B’Elanna, tell him to open his pretty mouth.” Icheb’s forehead crinkles in confusion at why Tom wouldn’t just give the order himself. But then, he isn’t fully advised in their dynamics yet. There’s something infinitely more _commanding_ about B’Elanna’s stern, half-Klingon voice.

She nearly growls, “Open your mouth, Icheb.” Succinct and easy, but so dominant that Icheb becomes a submissive doll, pliant to her ever whim, and his jaw nearly unhinges in its effort to open, his will to please. Tom looks pleased with him, and that makes Icheb feel _good_.

Tom slips his tongue into Icheb’s mouth like it was meant to be there. It swoops along the front line of his teeth and dips down his gums and rubs at Icheb’s own tongue, strokes it softly, and Icheb isn’t sure where his own tongue should go, so he leaves it wherever Tom’s pushes it. Tom licks at the inside walls of his mouth and presses their lips together hard, and Icheb forgets himself and squeezes too hard around Tom’s cock, so Tom bites Icheb’s bottom lips and hisses against him, “Careful, boy.”

Icheb mutters, “Sorry,” and opens his mouth wider, hoping to take more. Tom fills him up again, and Icheb pumps Tom’s cock dutifully in his hand. It’s thick and warm and seems to pulse at his touch, feels engorged and already a little wet, though Icheb doesn’t know what from. Maybe it’s some stimulant-based lubrication that Tom applied earlier? Even with all the vast knowledge of the collective, Icheb still feels so _ignorant_ sometimes. He’s eager to learn. Tom pulls back from him again.

“Kiss me back.”

As Tom’s leaning in, Icheb manages to murmur, “How?”

Tom stops and stifles a laugh before explaining, “Move your tongue against mine. Press back into me. Just... follow my lead.” Icheb wants more instructions—the collective was so much more _thorough_ —but he doesn’t want to be difficult, so he nods. 

Tom kisses him again, even _fiercer_ , and this time Icheb participates to the best of his abilities. He tilts his head against Tom’s to compensate for their noses and the angle Tom’s tilting to, and when Tom’s tongue barrels into his, Icheb pushes back, not hard enough to gain dominance, just enough to follow instructions. Tom seems to like that and moves their mouths together; Icheb closes when Tom closes, opens when Tom opens. He swallows the spit that spills into his mouth and tries not to be sloppy, but it’s hard with how fervently Tom’s taking him. Tom’s hands are back on his hips and sliding up and down his sides, tracing the slender lines of his body. When they reach around and cup Icheb’s ass suddenly, Icheb nearly jumps. But Tom doesn’t break the kiss, so he doesn’t either. Tom’s hands move up Icheb’s back, and that leaves Icheb oddly wishing they would go back. 

Tom’s a very, _very_ good kisser. Somewhere along the line, Icheb loses track of just what Tom’s hands are doing, loses track of his own hand beyond the awareness that it’s set into a loop, doing what it’s supposed to. As more of Tom’s intoxicating kisses fog up Icheb’s brain, he arches forward, using his grip on Tom’s cock to tilt it up and his free hand to wrap around Tom’s shoulders, and he flattens them together, chest to chest. His nipples, pebbled in the cool air, rub against Tom’s pecks, and he can feel Tom’s, still mostly receded, against his own skin. He bucks himself against Tom’s body without understanding the movement. He’s desperately trying to meld them together, pull them as close as possible.

But Tom worms a hand between them and shoves Icheb back by the chest again. Their kiss breaks, and Tom scolds him, looking more amused than angry, “You’re cute when you’re eager, Icheb, but B’Elanna needs to be able to see.”

That makes sense, even to Icheb’s useless head. He glances at B’Elanna and says through a hot blush, “I’m sorry.”

Her smirk says it’s fine. She’s now resting her chin in her palm, elbow leaning on the chair’s arm. Her legs are spread, and her other hand is idly massaging her crotch through her pants. Icheb’s glad she’s happy with them, because he imagines if she wasn’t, their activities would be _very_ different. 

Tom draws his head back and plunges them into another kiss, bodies kept painfully far apart. Icheb cleverly tries to move the tip of Tom’s cock along his, and even though he can only manage the smallest brush like this, it’s enough to make him dizzy. He strokes Tom’s cock faithfully and brings his other hand to help, so that he’s squeezing and pumping Tom’s heavy shaft nonstop. He gives himself over to Tom’s mouth, and each knowing swipe of Tom’s tongue fans his own fire, makes him work harder with his hands, pouring everything he can into this. He wants to be more than good; he wants to excel. They’re _amazing_. He wants to be invited back, and Icheb’s entire being right now is bent on filling his twin master’s desires. 

Then Tom’s kisses suddenly increase; he becomes a beast more teeth than tongue, and he grabs Icheb’s face and starts to scrape along Icheb’s jaw, tugging at his lips and nuzzling hard to bite his cheek, and Icheb’s body is arching forward, hips twitching in their desire to shamelessly hump the air. He treats Tom’s cock like the masterpiece it is, and he tries to go harder and faster to match the pace Tom sets. He can’t keep up with Tom’s mouth anymore, so he lets Tom devour him whole. 

Tom tenses suddenly and growls at him, shoves his face to the side and bites his neck, and Icheb moans into it, even when it hurts. Tom’s cock is twitching in his hands, and it secretes a little bead of liquid, hot and sticky, then spurts more and more, splattering over Icheb’s fingers and lap. Gasping, Icheb’s hands still, but when Tom growls again, Icheb goes back to pumping. Tom splashes jet after jet of human seed over him, and then it’s just trickling out, oozing along Tom’s knuckles, and Tom slumps back in the couch, mouth letting Icheb go. 

Icheb doesn’t want to be let go. He’s painfully hard, and he wants _more_ , and he makes a whining noise and strokes Tom’s cock again, but Tom slaps his wrists away. Icheb looks over to B’Elanna, hoping for mercy. 

She tells him huskily, “Lick it up.” It takes Icheb a second to realize what exactly he’s supposed to ingest. He can feel his face burning. He knows she’s serious.

He knows... there’s a certain amount of nutritional value in human semen. It still wouldn’t have occurred to him to taste it. But Tom’s giving him an expectant look, and Icheb does what’s asked of him. He tries to wipe off the mess along his thighs with what few of his fingers are dry, and then he lifts his sticky, soiled hand to his mouth. 

He licks a hard line up his palm, finds it vaguely salty and not particularly unpleasant, and starts to lap away at his own hand. It takes a few swipes of his tongue to clear each area; it’s goopy and thick. He sucks each of his fingers clean individually, fully aware he’s being watched, and he scoops up the rest, catching little pools here and there. 

When he’s finally done, Tom tells him quietly, “Good boy.” Tom pats his hip, and Icheb feels a swell of pride. The taste still lingers on his lips, and he licks them clean while he waits for more instructions, hoping desperately that they’ll involve his own release. 

He doesn’t want to ask. A flicker of movement and sound in his peripherals catches his gaze—B’Elanna’s getting out of the chair. Still fully dressed, she’s an intimidating presence, but one he’s learned is worth bowing to. She strolls over to pet Icheb’s head, and his eyes flicker shut while she runs her delicate fingers through his short hair. He almost makes a shameful crooning sound. She purrs, “You’ve been a good boy, Icheb. ...Do you want to go to the bedroom?”

Icheb’s eyes snap open. He breathes, “Yes,” instantly. He can only assume that means more. He _wants more._

B’Elanna grins at him; clearly, he’s said the right answer. She gestures for him to get up, and he stumbles unsteadily off Tom’s lap, helped along by Tom’s hands. His untouched cock bounces wantonly in the air, and he doesn’t miss the way B’Elanna’s eyes stray over it.

Then she puts a hand at the small of his back and uses it to steer him into the next room, sighing, “You’re going to like this part, Icheb. Tom’s going to come please us.” Icheb trembles in desire. He has absolutely no doubt that he’ll like it very, very much. ...And hopefully every other game of theirs thereafter.


End file.
